A Tale of Demons and Strife
by WeaponsMaster
Summary: This is a story following a group of adventurers on their travels within and around the completely madeup city of Euman Vir, it starts pretty much in the middle of what’s happening. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

_**I**_

Adenon crept slowly across the rocks, carefully measuring every footstep. The smallest rock sent tumbling could easily alert the gnoll sentries on the wall to his presence above them. He stopped for a moment, resting against one of the many granite spurs sticking out of the cliff wall. He mentally retraced his at first daunting, then nigh-impossible route, from the top of the hundred foot cliff to his present shelter, through the last twenty feet of the journey to the outcropping Aran had pointed out to him. As usual two gnolls sat on the ledge, showing typical gnoll discipline. They had apparently brought some spirit with them, for both were sleeping soundly, and Adenon could smell the alcohol from his present post. They had actually propped up their armor on sticks to make it look as if they were standing at attention, attentively scanning the horizon for incoming orcish threats.

It was only a little before dawn, and the hour for the attack was nearing. Adenon uncorked the bottle Aran had given him, took a small sip, and nearly jumped off the spur that he rested on. His face contorted in near nausea, he slowly curled into a ball and clutched his stomach. After a few moments he was fine again, and he grumbled a few choice curses to himself.

"By the Gods, that stuff has kick." He muttered, and stood upright. He let the potion work its way through his veins, coursing into his mind and throbbing with every beat of his heart. Within the span of three minutes any unpleasant effects he may have suffered from the potion were completely out of his mind, replaced instead by a feeling of raw power. He knew the sensation all to well, remembering fondly the time Aran had tossed him one of these same potions, giving him the energy he needed to finish the last twenty feet of the climb out of that orcish pit he had been trapped in at the border of Senkrad Thead. With that raw mix of power and ale flowing through small frame, he knew he would have more then enough energy to finish his task.

He climbed the twenty feet down to the two gnolls in a mere minute, moving so quickly that any observers would have sworn that a man sized spider was approaching the ledge. He practically dropped the last five feet to the outcropping and landed silently, rolling with the fall and letting the heavy leather padding he had worn deaden the noise. His roll brought him to his feet, standing about seven feet behind the sleeping gnolls. He drew his dagger and approached the sleeping forms. Each was about seven feet tall, hairy, smelly, and utterly abhorrent. He quickstepped between them and turned to regard his victims.

These moments always gave him pause, for he was normally a quite man. He didn't pretend to be a man of morals or justice, as proved by his record of petty thefts back in Euman Vir, but he had always had an abiding respect for life in all of its forms, no matter how repulsive they may be. That was why he had chosen to apprentice himself to a roof thatcher instead of a butcher or fisher. He shook himself, and reminded that he couldn't let silly things like morals get in his way now. He was the lynch pin in their plan to take the gorge, and he needed to be ready. He approached the first gnoll, slowly grasped its open maw and raised its head exposing its neck. His dagger hand went to work quickly, and before the gnoll could return to an even semi-conscience state, he had opened its throat in a wide, ear-to-ear grin. The beast started to twitch, and Adenon immediately sunk his dagger deep into the back of the gnolls neck. The beasts eyes went wide and the spasms stopped. He made a mental note to thank that dwarven weapon smith for his advice about brain stems upon their return to Euman Vir, if he hadn't stopped the spasms, the other gnoll might have awakened. Then Adenon would have been in a sorry position indeed

He moved to the other beast and finished his work and took a long look around the ledge. The armor was still propped up, so the many gnolls at the bottom of the ravine would be none the wiser for his presence, and he still had a few minutes before he had to be ready. There was nothing truly useful he could garner from his position, but he did take the time to loot the corpses. Since he still had some time, he sat down in between the two suits of armor and looked around.

Dawn was just beginning to break over the far eastern horizon. A glorious display of fantastic colors that even the mage of Euman Vir could never hope to match or recreate. He stood between the suits of armor, and watched as a glorious new day slowly rose to life over the rocky knolls in the east. The sky itself seemed to sing in exaltation for the glory of a new days birthing, but for Adenon, it all was tainted with the darkness of impending death. Today a red sun rose, perfectly reflecting the blood that would soon be shed here in Strathford gorge.

The sun passed the horizon, and began it ascent to the day's zenith. As was planned, his friends had crept close to the gate during the night, but where still out of sight, and waited only for the critical distraction that Adenon would provide. He reached down, grasping at the three bottles that were snugly secured against his thighs. Those bottles had cost him and his friends a small fortune, and the gnome they had bought them from had walked off looking quite smug. He tightened the corks on each bottle, fearing for his own safety from the volatile concoctions within. He had never liked, much less trusted, gnomes.

He looked again at the sun, it was time. He carefully removed the first bottle from his leggings, took it in his hand, and remembered the careful practice he had done before he got here. He could hit any target of a reasonable size from a reasonable distance, and his practice had given him a good degree of judgment for the fall and spin of the bottles. His target, the wooden palisade in front of the gate, was of more then reasonable size, but the distance was much longer then anyone of his friends had guessed. He was high enough up, though, that he was certain he could hit his target. He removed the second and third vial, placing them on a cloth he set on the rock in front of him. He took the first again, cocked back his arm for a throw, and stopped cold.

Far out to the north, he heard the bugle of horns, many, many, many horns. He looked out to the fen, and there, emerging from their holes and shacks, was one of the many tribes of orcs that roamed the marshes to the north of Strathford gorge. They poured out of the southernmost bog like a black tide, soon to wash up and over the earthen barricade the gnolls had erected and pillage the many huts that lay beyond. The sight struck him dumb, for the orcs had to be suicidal to attack the defenses that the gnolls had erected. Any straight out assault would have the enemy attacking an entrenched enemy who had taken the high-ground, after advancing under a hail of arrows from the parapet in front of and over the gate. To make matters worse, the gnolls had two mages amongst their number, and against such a tightly packed enemy, a single fireball could result in a score dead or more. Also, after they had taken the wall, the gnolls could simply take the ladders away and trap their enemies atop the wall. The enemy, if they wanted to proceed with their suicidal plan, would have to push through a small tunnel under the wall, where they could be individually slaughtered by archers and the remaining mage or mages.

Needless to say, attacks were made only by the suicidal or the insane, either of which could be used to describe an orc driven by his shamans call. As the seemingly unstoppable wave of toughened flesh approached, Adenon began to reconsider his reasoning of the orcs chances. They had brought many ladders with them, for one. They would be able to scale the wall much faster and bring the fight to the enemy there much more quickly. They also had a rickety catapult with a handful of stones, being carried by almost five orcs each. The one thing which might swing the scales in their favor, though, was the first three ranks of this orcish horde. Almost seventy five orcs were charging across the field with full plate armor, thick, tower shields, and wide brimmed helms. Adenon seriously had his doubts as to whether the gnolls archers would prove any use against the armored behemoths now approaching them.

Adenon stayed his hand with the bottle. If he threw it now, one of the mages on the ground would find him and simply toss a fireball on his rather small ledge. Besides, with the archers out of the way, the orcs would actually stand a chance. As it was, he had no doubt that the orcish wave would be repulsed. There were simply too many gnolls behind the wall for the orcs to even hope to take the gorge, but the orcs had never seen past the barricade, and were none the wiser. What he was curious about was how far the orcish attack would reach before it finally stalled, stopped, and was routed and how many gnolls they would manage to kill before then. He sat back, resting in the shade provided by the propped up armor of the pair of dead gnolls.

The sun had reached far beyond its zenith, and Adenon's shade had disappeared. The orcish assault had yet to end by any means. By all definitions, it had stalled over an hour ago, stopped a little after that, and was slowly starting to lose ground to the well versed gnoll counter attack. By all means, the gnolls were not smart. They were, in fact, just as stupid, bloodthirsty, and easily manipulated as the orcs who attacked them. The critical difference, though, was that the gnolls had been living here for some years now, and they knew every nock and cranny that they could use for cover.

About three hours after the slaughter had started. The orcs had taken their remaining armored orcs and sent them on a suicide charge straight through the palisade guarding the tunnel into the gorge. They had broken through, and a living spearhead had followed into the now open tunnel. Now kill-squads of gnolls and orcs each roamed the bottom of the gorge, small groups trying to link up with large ones, and large ones moving to cut of and slaughter smaller groups of their enemies. The wall still held strong, and remarkably the palisade in front of the gate hadn't fallen. There were still almost a hundred orcs battling for the wall, but they stood no chance, and it was only a matter of time before they were eliminated. The rest were running around inside the gorge, slowly being hunted down and killed. All in all, it could have gone much worse for the gnolls. The orcish commander had let his warriors run lose after breaking through, instead of trying to flank the defenders of the wall. If the orcs had taken the wall, the gnolls would have lost several score more taking it back.

As it was, the battle was beginning to wind down, and Adenon settled back, once again resting, but now on the other side of the armor, still in the shade. The one thing he could not comprehend was the orcish moral not breaking and getting to watch the massive rout he had expected from the beginning. It was almost as if the orcs had a death wish, or were more fearful of something else in the marshes of their ancestral home. Perhaps trolls had moved in, or giant worms, he didn't know.

"Such things don't concern you." Adenon muttered to himself, and settled back into a more comfortable position. He would wait for night to fall, sleep some, and awaken in time for their plan to start anew tomorrow before dawn. Even as his eyelids started to flutter, that teasing smell of alcohol once again tickled his nose. He looked back at the jug, and grinned. It wouldn't hurt tomorrow's planning as long as he didn't let a headache get in the way of their planes.

A twitch, a groan, and continuous, massive throbbing brought him back to reality. He hadn't had that much of the ale, he tried to reason with himself, but the stuff was so potent that one mug full could put even one of those legendary, elderly barkeeps under for the better part of a day. A quarter of a jug, he conceded was much, much, much too much of the stuff for his small frame to be inundated with. Weighing only one hundred and sixty five pounds, Adenon was the smallest of his friends. He didn't count Viconia, whom he believed didn't really belong with the group. True, she had become a skilled mage as their travels continued, but Adenon was rather stiff in his belief that women should be left at home, and leave the fighting to the men. He had always liked her a bit though. Maybe because her shapely form gave him something to think about during the nighttime hours, but he did enjoy her company, and he often spent time talking to her, despite the omnipresent Mathias. He found that he could open up his emotions more easily to her than he could to any of his other friends, and she often had good advice to give back.

After some time, the throbbing subsided a bit, and the clear ringing of thought chimed through his head like tapping dwarven mallets upon the finest crystal. With his head finally clearing and the mist lifting from before his eyes, he awoke to his surroundings. The panic that sized his heart could nigh' have driven him mad. A single realization that shook any last cobwebs from his mind and forced him upright with tingles running up and down his now ramrod stiff spine. Too much time had passed. The moon had already passed the edge of the parapet above him, and the sun was just beginning to creep its red vines of fire over the surface of the world far to the west. What if he was too late? What if his friends on the other side of the gorge would have to wait another day simply because of his indolence and self-indulgence?

His panic was misplaced though. The time had not yet come for his friends to infiltrate the gorge, but that time was moving furiously toward them, and he needed to be ready as soon as possible.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he realized that he already was ready. There was nothing more he could do or prepare, since he already had the three vials sitting on the cloth, practically begging him to rain the Fires of the Nine Hells down on the helpless souls before him. But as he looked at those helpless souls, he realized just how few there were. Bodies littered the canyon below, a veritable carpet of orcs and gnolls, but far more or the former that the latter. Adenon could not help but shiver at the comparison to leaves fallen from a tree. "Such vast death should never be released upon the world," he thought to himself, "It is needless, and only causes the Legions of the Nine Hells to swell faster."

With such thoughts of death running rampant through his mind, he reached out and touched the bottles, briefly fascinated by the fiery, burning death that would engulf his victims. He heard the roar of an animal in pain as one after another the bottles hit the ground, shattering, sending waves of fire washing over all those too close to his wrath. He shook that thought off, though. He was a man of higher morals, not savagery and bloodlust. He needed those morals to guide him through the coming venture, and to make sure that he didn't stray from his good path.

With death purged from his mind, and a sense of righteousness pervading his entire being, he reached out his hand and grasped the first of the bottles. He could feel his sweat pressed between his hand and its tight grip on the bottle. He mentally reviewed the plan. He was to create a distraction, destroying the palisade, with one of his two bottles, and then wait for one or both of the gnoll mages to arrive and investigate. He'd use his next bottle on them. The third bottle was for his discretion. The time had come, and with a well practiced throw, he hurled the vial into the night sky.

He couldn't follow the vial, it was much too dark, but only magical blackness could hide the resulting fireball that blossomed forth when the potion smashed into the palisade. Though it lasted only a few seconds, the extinguishing of so much life in a single instant dragged down time it self, forcing its normal clip to an anguished crawl. For Adenon, the moment held an eternity of wisdom. As he watched the blackened corpses fly every which way, twisting in strange, impossible, morbid patterns not capable by those still living, a small smile of grim satisfaction spread across his face. The death screams of a predator are seldom heard, and when they are, the species flocks to it. For them it is a call of battle, a challenge, a dare to try for vengeance. No beast, no matter how lowly, will let its pride submit to that.

Gnolls all across the valley first turned their ugly heads, then redirected their ever present rage toward the front of the canyon. As one, a huge army raced towards the mouth of Strathford Gorge, where yet another two Gateways to the Nine Hells awaited them. An army of gnollish wrath swept towards the front of the canyon, slowly at first, but faster and faster, pushing harder and harder as more forms joined the call. The came on silently, more and more and more until the floor of the valley was carpeted with them. More of the beasts began dragging themselves like the dead from the holes in the ground which lead into the mines below the gorge, Adenon and his friends true target.

Adenon let his dour grin turn into a broad smile. As more and more gnolls poured onto the valley floor, less and less stayed to guard those mines. Rich in copper, tin, and iron ore, the mines had been the reason the gnolls had originally come to Strathford Gorge almost thirty years ago. They had done so stealthily, not conducting any raids on the nearby elven communities or Euman Vir's outlying farms and provinces. They didn't even stir up trouble with the orcs only a mile or so north of them. They simply came, fortified, and settled. None of the other races knew what was happening until the wall was up, the huts were built, and the gnolls had been mining there for over two years.

At first they had used their own race as labor to draw the ores forth from the deep earth, but after fending off a large dwarf offensive and numerous orc raiding parties, they slowly became more and more aggressive themselves. They took the hills to the east of the gorge, using them to breed some form of goat which they use for food. They began sending out raiding parties of their own, taking back orcish, elven, human, even dwarven prisoners to work the mines for them. They would have the dwarves kept alive and well feed, teaching the other prisoners the techniques and tools of dwarves. They would also help refine the ores and forge better quality weapons for the gnolls to use. If they did not produce results they would have a limb removed. If they failed again, another was removed. If they failed five times, their last remaining limb, hard and bearded though it may be, was removed. It was a simple, though unpleasant, system which worked surprisingly well.

Adenon and his friends sought entrance for another reason, though. They bore just as much hatred as any living, breathing, _thinking_ thing did for the gnolls, and they would have relished the chance to remove them from Strathford Gorge. Beneath the mines, indeed beneath all mines, beneath every inch of ground, is a massive system of unchartable caverns and fissures that stretch endlessly up, down, north, south, east, west, and out. No light ever shines there, and there reside much fouler things then orcs in the deep places of the earth. There live the Drow. Dark Elves, whose sinister nature is matched only by their cunning and hatred for their fair-skinned brothers. There reside the Duergar, pale skinned gray dwarves just as evil as the Drow. There dwell the Illithids, Mind Flayers, horrific creatures that eat the minds of those they catch. There live the Kuo-toa, a monstrous, fish-like race with hearts as black as the obsidian skin of their dark elf adversaries. There is gold, and it is as bountiful as the sea. A single corpse often had enough loot to feed a man for ten lifetimes. An entrance to this horrible, gold laden place lies somewhere within the mines, and Adenon and his friends were going to find it. Of course they had a higher purpose in venturing there, but he rarely thought of it. His mind was based around profit, and that's exactly what they were going to get.

But that was later. Adenon had more important things to think about then their plans. The first thing to do was find one or both of the mages. They were the main danger to his friends with their true sight and detections spells. His friends had snuck near the gate under cover of darkness almost a day ago now. They were hiding in a small cavern under the wall, which Adenon himself had discovered. While Aran and he had been in the town of Halflings and Gnomes just east of Euman Vir buying the oils of fiery burning, Viconia had spent her time making a quilt of sorts that would hide their cubby from prying eyes. The danger, though, was that the quilt required magic to be truly effective, and that meant a mage of any skill could detect them. One or both of the mages had to be assassinated if his friends were to have any hope of getting in to the gorge, the mines, and what lay beneath them.

As he observed the rippling, pulsating wave of flesh arrayed before him, he began to realize an irony between his size and place in this world, and the importance of the position he held in their plan. How his actions would decide the fate of so many. Thousands had slowly surrounded his small ledge, and even now were reaching the tendrils of their power out, over the protective wall that had held firm through so many offensives, it's defenders where finally about to launch an offensive of their own. He watched the gnolls go by. Scanning the crowd, watching for the distinctive red robes the gnoll mages wore. All he saw though was the tan hue of gnoll fur. He knew both mages had survived the battle with the orcs. He had seen their signature lightning bolts again and again over the day's battle. He now only had to find them.

Even as the thought raced through his mind, he saw one, then another flash of the distinctive red robes. He smiled a demon's grin. Both of them were standing atop the wall, inspiring their brothers to even greater ferocity. They stood next to each other, bellowing to kill the enemy. He took the first bottle and casually tossed it at them, his smile growing wider all the while. Even before the first had broken, the second vial was arcing through the air, its path just as perfect as the first. With a reverberating defeat that shook the rock Adenon was standing on, a hellish inferno blazed into existence. Both mages, along with quite a few other gnolls, were thrown free of their earthly shackles with devastating force, and given flight that only spirits possess.

Even as the gnoll aggression stopped, ground to a screeching halt far outside gorge, the wall which had kept them safe for so many generations gave a low, bestial rumble, and began to bleed. The hardened dirt and stones that kept it upright had been loosened by the burning oils, and had been displaced by the marching of so many feet. Dirt and gravel slowly began to pour out, burying many gnolls beneath its enormous weight. The gnolls in front of wall were trapped outside, and dared not aid their brethren suffocating beneath the torrent of rock. Those who had yet to cross the wall could do no more then those outside, but quite a few had demonstrated typical gnoll stupidity by rushing over the wall, thinking battle had been joined, and be swept away by the river or stone bleeding from their safety. Adenon's smile took in his ears. His friends could not have hoped for a better distraction. Both the mages were dead, and not one gnoll was looking towards their end of the valley. His work was done, and he slowly began his assent up the wall of the gorge.


	2. Chapter 2

_**II**_

Aran pulled his cloak closer about him. A chill wind had descended from the north, and its icy bite went straight through the clothes he had worn. He smiled, even though he wasn't warm yet, a cloak as heavy as that could not help but block the wind. This cloak had stopped orcish arrows dead in flight. He smiled at the memory, the dumbstruck look on the orcs face when he has whirled around after being shot in the back, the surprised gurgle of attempted speech through the hole his dagger had made in its throat. His wicked grin grew wider still as he fingered the metal links, the chain-mail he had sewn into the cloak himself. Nature could howl all she wanted, he would not feel the cold she wanted so badly to inflict upon him.

Making sure he was still in the shadows, he looked around. The wall had broken on the far side of the gorge, and even now gnolls were flocking to it. Their confusion would prove a useful distraction. He looked at his segment of wall, still just as strong as solid as it had been when he had first laid eyes on it. Scaling it would be fairly easy, considering the lookouts on top had abandoned their posts for Adenons most spectacular, if belated, diversion. The problem would be getting himself and his friends across the top and down the other side of the wall without being seen. Right now, the majority of the gnolls were on the other side of the wall, but when they reached the parapet, eyes would draw to them like flies are drawn to carrion. He was fairly confident he could do it, but he doubted the others could be quite so stealthy.

Either way, they had figured that this was their best plan, and he was going to have them stick with it. Somehow he had grown to be the leader of their little group. Almost every one of them was confused about how it had happened, but when, they all knew that. His mind had been the source of their best plans, and he had been the one who saved Adenon from those orcish whelps trap back in the mountains. The defining moment, though, had been when he had championed them against a large and overly brutal orc, who had led his clan with pride and typical orc savagery.

The group had infiltrated the clans cavern home in the mountain range of Senkrad Thead, a feat in itself. These orcs had been the dominant clan in their part of the mountains, and an even larger area of tunnel beneath the surface. They were dominant because their leader, Mougal Hellscream, had long ago made a pact with a lesser demon. He was given the horn of a Balor, and in exchange he and his clan would worship the demon as if it was a god. He took the horn to slaves, dwarven weapon smiths, and had them forge the horn into a six and a half foot beast that could disembowel any enemy, and its wounds were especially slow to heal. He named the blade the Lifebleeder, due to his habit of cutting his opponents in duels, and then sending them home in supposed grace, only to have them die of seemingly non fatal wounds.

The Hellscream was not content with what he had, though, with the sacrifice of one hundred slaves, he called again upon the demon, who was now of substantial power. He made another bargain with the demon. This time, he asked for a powerful gem known as a Perseverance, which granted whoever held it supernatural regeneration, from both age and wounds, and strengthened their spells. He asked what the demon wanted in return, and for the next ten years, Mougals clan grew in size and power as they engaged in an unholy jihad against the neighboring orcish tribes. Male prisoners and children were sacrificed to the demon upon a rock in the center of the main cavern of the Hellscream's tribe. Female prisoners were raped over and over again by every single member of the clan. If they survived, they were allowed to live. With the blessings of demon backing them, what soon became known as the Bloodied Stone Clan, referring to the demonic alter upon which prisoners were sacrificed, evolved into the most feared name an orc could whisper to itself.

The Mage of Euman Vir had tasked them with retrieving the Lifebleeder. What was needed was the Perseverance, but the Hellscream had had it set into the swords pummel, and it would be pointless to retrieve one without the other. Besides, the old man had said they could keep the sword if they got it, although he had deliberately said he doubted that the swords evil would allow any of them to wield it. He had hinted, though, that such a blade would fetch quite the price on the dwarvish market. That was no where near the price Aran and his friends were offered, Viconia had quite literally fallen over when the idea of twenty bags of one thousand gold coins each was offered. Almost everyone was prepared to take the deal, but Aran had an idea in the back of his head, and before the others could blurt out their obvious assent, he sent began to haggle with the merchant. It turned out that the merchant's original offer had been a little stingy, and the price leveled out around four times what had originally been offered. Oh, he and his friends experienced quite the headache the morning after that. Buying the bar itself as opposed to a drink tends to do that to a person.

No matter how much gold it fetched them, it almost wasn't worth it. They all nearly lost their lives at two points, and many of them more then that. All of them had been caught with the blade trying to leave the caves, and they'd had to cut their way out, leaving a bloody swath for others to follow. Then they had all been caught in that spike trap, but Adenon was the one who had suffered for that. He was the one who had fallen, but he got lucky, and missed getting impaled. He didn't make it out whole, though. As he fell one of the stakes slit open his chest from hip to shoulder, and another had opened up the veins in his leg. They did everything they could to get him out, Aran even threw him one of his homemade strength potions, and he somehow managed the climb.

The last instance, though, where all their lives had been in danger, still sent shivers up his spine. The orcish Demon Wars, as they were now called, took place over three generations ago, and Grom was long since dead. His grandson Gorm ruled, and he was just as brutal and malicious as his grandfather was. The difference between them was that Grom made the Lifebleeder, and Gorm lost it. Gorm was not a stupid orc. His father had realized that to effectively keep so many of his fellows under his control, he needed to be smart. He taught his son that, and Gorm took it to heart. He knew that if he lost the Lifebleeder, his clan's supremacy within the mountains would die, and him with it. So, when Aran and his friends made off with the blade, Gorm followed them.

He tailed them for days, finally catching up to them only three days from Euman Vir. He snuck upon them like a fox among sleeping rabbits, and could have killed them all, but for the vigilance of Matthias. Matthias had shouted to his friends, wakening them. He ran and grabbed the sword before the orc could reach it, ducked in and out among the tents, avoiding the maddened orc and his sweeping axe.

Aran was first to challenge the Orcish King. He stood from his tent like a god, arrayed only in his chain-mail cloak and his leggings, but with his two short swords in his hands, and both his daggers at his belt. The beast had howled like a fiend, rushing towards the lone worrier who stood before it with its axe held high. Aran threw first one, then both of his daggers at the charging beast before him. Though neither flew true or even scratched their target, Gorm had had to duck, dodge and weave a bit to avoid them. By doing so, he lost momentum, and his prime advantage died. Without speed to force Arans' hand, the beast could not hope to defeat him. The daggers were not enough, however, and Thrall still had some of his charging ferocity when his axe finally met Arans whirling blades.

The fight was hellish. A tangible, twisting nightmare manifested upon the plain. The mighty axe swept too and fro in powerful arcs which could have cleaved a man in two, but no man was caught within their reach. Again and again the feral beast reared back, heaving its axe onto his most hated enemy. Again and again, the lone warriors' blades flew up to meet the charge, and again and again they lashed out, staining the thirsty ground with tepid, orcish blood. But a beast in such a rage cannot be defeated. It will not allow itself to die, no matter how many wounds it must endure, no matter how many blades may pierce its wicked heart. Eventually the warrior, proud and honorable though he was, began to tire. His stinging blades moved sluggishly, and his arm trembled with every blow deflected. Soon he could fight no longer, and the monstrosity before him howled its victory, and smashed his axe through the mans' side, sending him crashing through a tent, to lie in a pool of his own blood, and die.

But those friends were not done. By so wounding their companion Gorm had merely sealed his own fate. He would join his god and grandfather that day, but it would not be by Aran's hand. Instead, another rose to challenge the maddened animal. The elvan warrior, Ezoda Swordwhip, stepped forth to second his champion. The orc looked on with his blood red eyes, and, as he watched this elf prepare itself for battle, a mortal fear sized it. This warrior could kill him. This elven wretch, with his golden arms and armor, and his flowing blood-red hair, could end his life. With a howl to the darkened sky, Thrall threw himself upon his foe, and the swordwhip fulfilled his name. No beast, no matter what rage or what demonic blessing floes through its veins, can simply shrug off having itself transfixed upon a sword, its beating heart impaled, skewered behind it on the blade sticking through its ruptured chest.

Aran still shivered at the memory. His fingers reached down, and traced where the jagged scar would be if he wasn't wearing his armor. It had taken him months to recover, even with the help of the priests of Euman Vir, the magical aid of the Old Man in the Tower. What had perplexed him, though, was Matthias. Matthias had come to him and offered him some sort of deal. If Aran would act more accepting towards him and his presence in their circle of friends, he would help heal the wound. He had accepted, grasping at any chance of being well again. He would never forget what had followed. Matthias stood up, placed his hand _inside_ the cut, and began a soft chant in some language Aran had never heard. A strange feeling of, he didn't know what, began to flow into him. He could feel warmth in his bones that was unfamiliar, yet comforting. The flow of blood did not cease, though, and no obvious change came about. Somehow, though, Aran simply felt better.

The point was gone and forgotten anyway. Aran, looking about himself and realized that he had much more important things to deal with. He realized that he needed another distraction. What to do, though? They had given all their oils to Adenon, and he had no magic with him to distract the gnolls again. What he needed, though, was something on the other side of wall. He needed something that would draw eyes away from the barricade before him. He had nothing though, and he would simply have to take his chances.

He looked about himself again, taking particular note of his position. He was standing in the hollow of a dead tree, which was surrounded by gnolls. His hollow had only one way in and out, unless he wanted to try and climb out the top. He shook his head at that suicidal notion. He would make a fine sight indeed, trying to sneak over the wall after every gnoll within five hundred yards had used his hunched, cloaked form as target practice. He moved his head closer to the opening and looked out.

His little tree was still surrounded by gnolls, but they were beginning to thin out. He had learned many things in his journeys, and he had become proud of his ability to move unseen, and move past those whom he did not want to know of those his presence. He slipped out of the tree, barely a passing shade to the gnolls around him. They never suspected his presence, that the gentle ripple in the grass might be something worth noting, that there was some other form beside the dead orc at their feet, or that their neighbors shadow was unusually long. He made his way past many, and he even left a few dead in his wake. He was never distracted from his main purpose, though, to reach and retrieve his friends. Past standing gnoll, fallen orc, it mattered not, he reached their cubby quickly.

He couldn't help but take a little sadistic pleasure from the look on his friends' faces as he burst in through the magical quilt they had hung at the entrance. He jumped through the opening, grabbed the elf by the scruff of the neck, hauled him upright and gave the same low, feral snarl that he had perfected months ago, at some orcish peons' expense. Seeing the look of sheer terror slowly melt away into one of pleasant surprise and relief was enough to make it worth the trouble. The stifled laughs of his companions made it all the more rewarding, though, and he decided to carry the joke just a little bit further. He reasserted his supremacy over the elf and hoisted him into the air. He put on a look of supremely comic evil, and he whispered in his best orcish impression,

"Where you friends gone? I's gonna' eat 'em! I's gonna eats 'em all! Oh… 'der you is! I's gonna munch you alls up!"

And with that he dropped the elf unceremoniously on his rump, right where he had first been sitting, and proceeded to grab the fun loving Viconia and pretend to eat her face. She laughing pushed him aside, so instead he leapt like some sort of crazed animal upon Adenon, just as he walked into their hole, returning from his trek under the gorge. Aran and he toppled to the ground. Adenon, with his quick mind, realized immediately what was going on, and half-screamed in mock fear as a massive wolf clawed at his guts. Aran, his fun-loving side far from sated, jumped upon Matthias, who was sitting in the corner smiling at their games, and was about to lift him up, and pretend to lower him into some great beasts open maw. His surprise was utterly complete when instead of him doing the lifting, the tables were turned and he found himself the one being lifted. While staring at the ceiling, uncomfortably close to his nose, he heard Matthias cry out in joyously teasing righteousness,

"Worry not, my imperiled friends, I will save you from this great beast!"

With that he turned around and brought himself, Aran atop him, crashing onto the floor. Aran suffered the worst. He had the wind completely knocked out of him, while Matthias was up in an instant. That surprisingly strong man leapt upon him and, reaching under the loose leather armor, began to tickle Aran with a vengeance. The worst was not over for poor Aran, though. Seeing the 'great beast' fallen, Matthias 'imperiled friends' literally jumped into the fun. The next few minutes were a wonderful escape from the hellish reality that awaited them outside their cavern, especially for Adenon, whose actions and responsibilities had been bothering his conscience ever since he set off.

After the war had subsided, Matthias, his chest heaving from the exertion, raised a finger in Arans' direction and panted out his thoughts to his friends,

"See? The wolf, fearsome though he may be, is just as much a fun-loving deer as the rest of us at heart." With the others laughing, he took the moment to move closer to Viconia. Even as he propped himself against a wall, she repositioned herself to be leaning against his chest. Together their chests heaved, and Matthias began to whisper some sweet nothing into her ear. Aran shook his head in wonder, that man had always had a way with her. A thought struck him though, and he let himself collapse from his perch, leaning against the wall, to the floor, and he just so happened to land with his head a mere three feet from the pair. He heard Matthias semi-whisper "Thank you for making us that wondrous quilt, without it we wouldn't have had this romp." With that he tickled her just a little bit more.

"Does he think of everything?" Aran wondered to himself. It's true, he had completely forgotten about Viconia having sewn the quilt that covered their entrance, and that she had made it not only camouflaged, but soundproof as well.

"I couldn't have done it without you, though. You showed me the right spells, the right spell…" They both giggled like schoolchildren, and Viconia attached herself to Matthias tongue for just a moment. It didn't take much imagination for Aran to figure out exactly what she meant as he watched them. He was a little embarrassed, but from his spot on the floor he could see 'the spell' going down the leg of Matthias pants. More than a little embarrassed he averted his gaze, and instead found himself watching Adenon.

Adenon had a troubled look about him. He had just as much of a smile splayed across his face as the others, particularly Viconia and Matthias, but something about him had changed. He seemed just a little bit agitated, almost like he could see the silhouette of a gnoll through the makeshift quilt. Just the way he always was when something had wormed its way under his normally thick skin, and was bothering his surprisingly complex mind. Alarm bells immediately went ringing in Arans head. He would need to have every single member of his party at their very best if they all wanted to survive the coming trials. It would have to wait, though. By now, the short term effects of the fireballs had worn off, but the long term effects, hundreds of slaves, watched by even more gnolls, slowly repairing the wall, was starting. Gnolls were going into the mines even now and bringing slaves to the surface to toil and toil and work until their backs were broken. It was better then the mines, though. In the mines you couldn't see the sun.

When the reconstruction got going, all the torches necessary to make the work efficient would make crossing the wall unseen impossible, so trying it later was not an option. Instead, while more gnolls were under the surface rounding up slaves and fewer gnolls manned the battlements… Yes, that would be their opportunity. That would be their opening into the seemingly undefeatable Strathford Gorge. Aran let a small smile creep across his face. In a land overflowing with death, such an occurrence was rare.

He looked again at Adenon. He was worried what would happen beyond the wall. If Adenon wasn't at his best, they might as well turn around and go home. As his previously acquired skills at acquiring things he should not have acquired grew, the group had come to rely on him more and more. He had proven invaluable in stealing the Lifebleeder, and in their other exploits, namely freeing Ezoda from his elven brethren and avoiding several less then pleasant experiences common in Euman Vir. The contacts he had made in his less savory exploits had earned him quite a bit of a reputation back home, and it had gotten them out of many nasty encounters with even nastier people. His relative expertise would probably come in handy over the wall, but he was worried they might have to do without it.

He got up, and crawled over to Adenon, sat down beside him. He looked outside. The sun was just beginning to set. He had time enough to talk a bit with Adenon, but before he could open his mouth the man had already started.

"The passage I used to get back here is out. I had to wiggle through some rocks just go get in, and my foot caught something as I finally got through. Something dislodged, and now the entrance is completely blocked."

"Thanks for telling me. I wasn't planning on use it again anyway, but it's still nice to know this kind of thing. I need to know everything if I…

"Want to be a good leader, I know. We've all heard it before, Aran, we get your point."

"Stealing my thunder again?"

"I'm a cold hearted thief, slick as a fish, and you expect me not to steal everything I can get my hands on?"

Aran playfully punched him in the arm. He loved these little jests they often shared between them. They helped him think of brighter times, from before the glint of gold had first tempted them, before greed had touched their innocent hearts. The greed had long since past, but it had set them on this journey, and this journey was their life now. They had all become adventurers' heart and soul. The road was their only home, the soft grass or hard stone their only comfort, satisfaction their only drink, and solitude their only communion.

A silence had passed between them, but time was slowly passing away. He needed to get to his point with Adenon. He looked over, the man was slumped against the wall, his eyes closed. He looked like he had just run a marathon, but their troubles that night were only just beginning. He reached a hand over and put it on Adenons' shoulder.

"What's troubling you, my friend?"

Aran looked at him, his eyes seeming to swim for a moment. He looked away, but spoke

"I saw such death. It was rampant, like a flood of… of… of some horrible plague born of the Nine Hells themselves. It was… mortifying. Why must such torture be unleashed upon any race? Make no mistake, I harbor just as much hatred in my soul for the gnolls and their foul ways, but…"

He trailed off, leaving Aran to pick up and finish his meaning.

"You speak of fear, my friend. You saw genocide up there. A man would have to truly be a monster if he wasn't a little disturbed. You stared at death today, my friend. You saw him reap a harvest of his fated crop. That takes bravery. You stood your post at the rock. You kept your watch over a blood bath the size of which our world has not seen in many long years. And when it was through, you somehow managed to stomach your disgust, and carry through with your duty. I don't know how you did it, but it takes a man with strong will and a good heart to do that. You have a good heart, my friend. Don't ever let anyone or anything, even yourself, take that away from you. If it hurts, the only thing you can do is take comfort in the fact that you are among friends, and we will shelter you from meeting your end as well on that bloody field above us."

Adenon had yet to look at him, but he could see his shoulders give the occasional shake. Aran reached over and pulled the man nearer to him. He held him close in this time of need, putting his hands on his shoulder and kissing him atop the head, like a brother.

Through the silent sobs, the brother that Aran had never had managed to whisper

"Aran, you're a god. You always know just what so say, damn it. How come you have to be so good at telling people exactly what they need to hear?"

"Be stilent, my friend. You are safe from the demons above us."

Some time passed, but none in the cave moved. Matthias and Viconia had yet to stop their quite cooing. Ezoda continued to sit in a corner, the parchment atop his lap, a small quill in his hand. Aran and Adenon sat quietly together. They had shared a brotherly bond for years now, but despite Viconia's constant teasing it was nothing more than that. Aran had been disowned by his family at a very young age, so even though he had a brother already he never saw him. Adenon had been an only child. His parents, old when they had tried, had decided not to try again. They had been too old to stop him from taking a less favorable road in life, and they were glad to see him with this group of friends. Aran and Adenon had found each other at a young age, and had practically been brothers from then on. All was still as the sun set in the west, another day had come to an end. The night had come. This was their time of action.

Aran rose, that omnipresent aura of power pervading his very presence among the friends. He looked about at the dearest people in the world to him, and he was about to lead them into near certain death. His worry not was that they would die. If one of them was to die, so would they all, and their deaths sung by bards across the land. One for all and all for one, as others would they would have put it, but Aran saw it merely as comradeship. No, his true worry was for their minds. He had to keep their sanity intact, because that's what would matter when they had finished all of this.

"I need to stop thinking. Less talk, more kill, friend." He muttered to himself. He turned to Adenon and offered him a hand up, which the lazy thief accepted graciously. He then turned to Matthias and Viconia, sitting in their corner. Viconia was fast asleep on Matthias chest, and the man himself was nearly out. He walked over and crouched down, sitting on his heals. Matthias lifted his head just a little, an expression of such resigned pleasure on his face the Aran wanted to leave him. Instead, he reached out, grabbed his shoulder, and gave him a gentle shake.

"Matthias? Matthias are you awake?" he whispered. "Damn it, man, I need you to get up and get your friend up too. We need to move now, while the fewest gnolls are out to spot us going over the wall." It didn't look like his words even registered, that he was talking to a man dead drunk, but he knew that Matthias had heard his words. He moved to Ezoda, who still sat in his corner, scratching at the hide with that quill of his. Before Aran could speak up, rose him from his reverie, the elf spoke

"My soul has been drained of its vitality,  
My life has been leeched from its frame.

Your smile I have bourn through my misery,   
Oh, will you not heal this maim?

My life had a luster of ecstasy  
now only the shadow of pain.

Your smile I have bourn through my misery,  
Oh, will you not heal this maim?"

A silence passed between them, but it was brief. Despite the heartbreak his words contained, and the beauty of the poetry flowing from Ezoda's lips, Aran had kept his original purpose in mind.

"My friend, you amaze me every time. But rise, we have work to do and gnolls to kill. We will need your blade if we want to survive the trials ahead."

"You shall ever have my blade, friend, and my hand shall ever strike where you command." He smiled. His loyalty was no façade, but true devotion.

"Will you ever let me forget? It was nothing, what we did for you. Speak not, least the gnolls hear you and give you more kills then your share."

Another heart-warming smile, and he stood. His face held a pensive look, as it always did, and his hand reached down, just behind his waist, and began tracing patterns on the hilt of his long sword. He was up, along with the rest of the group. It was time to face the demons that awaited above them. He looked briefly at Ezoda. The elf would probably save his life up there. He was doubtless the best fighter in places and times like this, where dancing from foe to foe without stop, and leaving none alive in his wake would be an invaluable advantage. He would stay close to his friend. That would be best.

He strode over to the quilt they had laid before the entrance, lifted it slowly, and looked upon his future. Orc bodies lay scattered about the field, thicker then the grass they crushed beneath themselves. No living foes presented themselves, though, and in the failing light, it was time for action. He leaned out, gazing out to see if any others stirred, but none stir from the endless slumber of death. He looked over his shoulder and nodded his head. The way was clear.

Aran left first, his lean frame scaling the wall with ease. Ezoda came next, practically jumping the seven feet up the wall. Adenon came up after that, scurrying his way over whatever hand and foot holds he could find. Viconia emerged next, her graceful bearing that of an angel, but an angel of vengeance. What came next made Aran do a double take. Somehow, he hadn't recognized Matthias. He seemed different, somehow. He had a feeling about him, one of vengeance, bloodlust, almost evil. It was as if his heart had turned feral, and you could smell the raw power of nature at its most brutal as it spread through his veins. He was just a little hunched, and he seemed larger, more fearsome, and stronger, much stronger. It was frightening. In fact, it chilled Aran to his core. He, the man who had faced orc kings, armies of gnolls, his own phobias, and faced them down, was scared by this change in his friend.

The worst part was he was all too familiar with the change. He and all the others had seen it before many times. When the beast within Matthias was unleashed, any with a head on their shoulders and a mind between their ears stayed well away from him. None of them knew how far this battle lust went, though. In battle, he would simply point to a side, a flank, or a knot of enemies, growl something unintelligible to Viconia, and disappear. After that, they never saw him, but they never heard from the enemies he had singled out for death again, or the flank he had chosen would somehow stay clear of enemies, leaving the company alone as they did their work. None of them knew, that is, except Aran. Aran had seen something once, he didn't know what to make of it, and the memory made him to weak to confront Matthias about it.

As they fled from the orcish caves in Senkrad Thead he had seen a group of orcs approaching them with spears, swords, axes, arrows, and many other assorted pieces of wicked, remorseless metal held at the ready. They had been deathly silent, they thought they were unnoticed. True, the company would have been slaughtered if Aran had not seen, but he didn't even have time to alert his friends. Something happened that he would never quite forget. An immaterial shadow, a passing darkness that flitted across his vision, leaving his bones quaking with a deathly cold, moved in and out among the rock and stone. It moved with unnatural quickness, and before the orcs had even raised their weapons, or reached to scratch their heads, death was rampant among them. Aran beheld fonts of blood that even Ezoda with his wicked cunning and strength could not rival. Veritable rains of gore splattered across the orcs, ceiling, and rocks. Dismembered and mutilated corpses flew in every direction, cracking open against the rocks, driving through skin, organ and bone. In naught but fifteen seconds, almost seventeen orcs lay dead, with one more yet to die. Aran looked on in horror, as a true monster rose to its feet towering above even the massive orc. Aran couldn't see at that distance, but his knees weakened, and his breath came in short, quick gasps as, with a single swip of a massive, taloned paw, the orc disappeared in a red mist.

He couldn't dwell on it, though. Gnoll cries echoed in the distance, and obscure forms moved in and out of the shadows on the other side of the wall. Matthias offered Viconia a hand up, which she took with a kiss, and he clambered up after her. Like they had discussed, they found the nearest two ladders and slide down quickly. The longer they were on top of the wall, the longer gnoll archers would have to spot them, and do a little practice with their bows. They landed, unpunctured by arrows, and huddled together. They were all a little scared, except perhaps Matthias, who seemed distant and unconnected. Aran couldn't let that bother him. He had work to do and gnolls to kill.

"We all know where the entrance to the mines is?"

They nodded their assent.

"Very well. Ezoda, you and I are going to create the distraction. I was thinking that Snarlmanes' palace would hold quite a few opportunities for just such a thing. Adenon, you killed both the mages, right?"

Again, he nodded his assent.

"Good. Now, Warstrike the Shredder is in need of a visit. His heart is still intact, I want that changed. Matthias, you stay with Viconia and help her if she gets in trouble. Viconia, I want you to follow Adenon. He'll need the cover before the end. As soon as you three are done, I want you to go to the entrance to the mines and collapse it. Ezoda and I will find holes and meet you near the entrance. Alright, I'll see you all sometime soon. Ezoda, come, we have work to do."

Adenon was the first to leave. He turned from the circle and looked about for a place to hide himself. Seeing one, he dashed to it and took cover, looking about for gnolls who would sound the alarm and bring animalistic wrath down upon his head. Viconia and Matthias took their own route, closer to the wall, where there were more bodies to use as camouflage. That left only Ezoda and himself, to go about their business.

He took a moment, looking at the elf until he caught his eye. They gazed at each other for a moment, and exchanged everything they would need to know. The fires the burned in Ezodas eyes betrayed his outward calm. He thirsted for blood. He wanted to see it in red rivers, flowing down his blade. He wanted to unleash death upon those who were foolish enough to get in his way. The ice in Arans' eyes, though, tempered his flames. Ezoda saw in that moment a cold, calculating man. A man who would strike quickly and without mercy, and give no thought to those who fell before him. He saw the icy fury that stole the fire of an orcish chieftain's life, and it forced him to suppress his fervor.

By the same token, when Aran gazed into the fiery depths of the Swordwhips' soul, he saw many of his faults. He saw his own robotic thrusts and parries, swings and counters, and he saw that to fight without passion, without zeal, would rob him of his purpose. If he was to kill, to drive a soul into the depths of the Nine Hells, he would send them knowing that they had faced an opponent against which no other outcome would have been possible. Hopefully, that poor soul would find comfort in the fact that it had no choice in its path.

The warriors, their souls having been tempered, reached out. They grasped each others wrist, firmly and with shared ardor. Then, together they stood and began to run. Snarlmane's palace was at the other end of the valley, and they would need to cover the ground quickly in order to keep pace with Adenons half of the plan. As they sprinted the seven hundred or so yards of open ground, they heard the music of gnoll alarms. There would have been no way to approach the palace without being seen and the alarm raised, so they would draw off the guard before they got there. As they ran they saw a few gnolls who had heard the alarm, and come to defend their home. The stupid beasts split into two groups, about three coming for Aran, and five for Ezoda.

Ezoda, with his elvish agility and speed, was the first to reach his group. One had an axe, and seemed eager to use it. He stepped forth and brought his arms back for a mighty cleave that would break the elf before him in two. Ezoda ran straight on, and just as the gnoll was about to swing he jumped. He practically flew straight over the gnolls sweeping axe, somersaulted in the air to get his sword in position, and brought it crashing down upon the beasts helmeted skull. Aran could see that blow all too well, the burst of gore that accompanied it, and the manic, devilish grin that spread across the Swordwhips face as the blood splattered his fair skin. Aran could hear, rather then see the ensuing slaughter, but he knew that those five gnolls would trouble them no more.

He had no more time to observe his friend, though. He had reached his own challenge. Of the three, two had swords, and would prove some difficulty if they were veterans. The third was small for a gnoll, a mere six or so foot high, and held spear and buckler as his weapons. As Aran ran on, he could see the spear trembling in the animals grasp. He would be the easiest to kill. As Ezoda had taken to the air, so would Aran take to the ground. Just as he reached the edge of that darting spear, he threw himself under it, a single blade flashing out to keep it from skewering him. He landed and rolled straight into the legs of one of the sword – wielding gnolls. Instead of going for a mortal blow and risking his own safety, he reached out, drawing one of his daggers forth from his belt. He took it, and before the gnoll could bring its blade down to slice his head, he forced the blade through the beasts knee.

Oh, how he howled then! The maddened beast fell, grasping at its injured leg, only to find the wicked man who had caused such burning pain gone. He realized exactly where he was, though, when a spray of blood that was not his own spattered across his face. He looked up to find the other gnoll clutching frantically at its chest, its blood draining through his hands onto the ground before him. It came as no surprise when another blade forced itself out of his dead companions' chest. The blades twisted and were wrenched free, and the body toppled to the side, exposing a maddened devil. Aran, still keenly aware of his surroundings despite the adrenaline rushing, burning, coursing through his veins, knew exactly what to do. He lifted himself slowly from his latest kill, both his short swords in his hands. His head was facing down, at the corpse beneath his feet. Slowly, oh so slowly, he lifted his head, until he could just barely see the gnoll from under the hood of his cloak. For the second time that day, he loosed that low, feral growl which always terrified his enemies. With that, and knowing that the final gnoll stood a mere twenty feet away shacking in its boots, he descended upon his petrified victim.

Almost a minute later he left the blood bath. Aran doubted there was one dry spot left on his entire person, he was so soaked with gore. Any who saw the mutilated corpse he left behind would be hard pressed to figure out what species it had been, much less who's remains it were. He looked over at where the small gnoll had been standing. He could see it running in the distance, towards the mansion, screaming like a banshee that demons in human form had invaded the gorge. By the time he got to Snarlmanes' palace, there would be ten thousand demons, each with magic powers and big, wicked blades that could have cleaved him in ten, or some other gnollish nonsense. Knowing gnolls, hearing such stories would send them running, and set the story going through the gorge like wildfire. Panic would grip at every gnollish, bestial heart before the night was over, and their duty would be much easier for it.

Thinking of duty brought a bit of a spring into Aran's step. He needed to catch up to Ezoda, who had finished a little before he had. He ran quickly, he could see the elfs' darting form ahead. He smirked a little to himself, Ezoda could move so quickly. He had run into a group of scattered gnolls, each spread a little distance from the other. He would choose a foe, strike, move on to another opponent, and be finished with him before his first victim had fallen to the ground. His dance was mesmerizing, the way it stole the life so gracefully from all but one of its partakers. His blade wove a web of death, each bond a freshly fallen body upon the already bloodstained ground.

Even as Ezoda finished his work, Aran reached him. Together again, they departed the latest slaughter and continued across the gorge. As they were running, Aran asked Ezoda of a gnoll that had come running in his direction. Ezoda replied merely that he had killed all within the considerable reach of his blade. Aran took that as confirmation that the wretched beast had lived. It was too terrified to even come near the Swordwhip in his frenzied dance. No enemy would dare approach him when he entered such a rage. If one enemy was stupid enough to do so, the punishment was swift death, with no exceptions. Many times Aran had seen foolish orcs, gnolls, and other unpleasant beasts, none of whom were known for their intelligence, fall prey to this particularly devilish trap.

The moved across the floor of the valley relatively unmolested, considering the ten's of thousands of gnolls that lived around and underneath them. They ran into another force, which simply fled in terror before them, and as they ran Aran thought of what they would do. They were heading towards a mansion resized to accommodate a gnolls massive frame. Inside was the leader of the Gnolls of Strathford Gorge, a cunning beast known as Snarlmane. Very little was known for certain, the only source of information being escaped slaves. Such escapee's being a rare instance, and those who did manage to flee often having lost their mind, what was known was tenuous at best. Snarlmane had been brought to power mainly through his brothers political maneuvering. His brother, Warstrike the Shredder, was the weapons master the gnolls. Not only was Warstrike an exceptional fighter, he had a dangerous cunning in his mind that set him far ahead of his brethren. His thoughts were so far ahead, that he realized at a very young age that his brother was born to lead his people, but not a born leader. So he used the power that he gained as the leading weapons master to move his brother up, becoming more and more trusted by the leaders. Until, finally, their chieftain moved on, and left Snarlmane as his successor.

Snarlmane, having reached the most powerful position he could, soon lived up to his brothers expectations of him. Under his rule, the wall was built, or rather rebuilt into something actually worth defending. The same wall had kept them safe for almost seven years now. It was under his rule that the slaving raids began. It was under his rule that the mines became an asset. It was under his rule that the Gnolls of Strathford Gorge multiplied exponentially, until they posed a threat to Euman Vir itself.

That was neither here nor there, though. The important things were this. Snarlmane always had either a massive entourage to defend him or he had his brother and his elite followers, the Gutshredders. The Gutshredders were a group of large and overly brutal gnolls trained to rip their enemies limb from limb and use the bladed gauntlets and spiked armor they bore shred apart any enemies that crossed their path. Though respectful and obedient to their king, their true loyalty lay in Warstrike, from whose title they drew their name. One slave, an escaped dwarf master craftsman, told the people of Euman Vir much of this.

Warstrike had become the best by a combination of talent and raw ferocity. In his early days, he would use weapons in his challenges only to disarm his opponent. He would then attack with his bare hands, forcing the other weapons master to confront him on his own terms. Warstrikes' thick frame and brawny core allowed him to physically overpower almost any enemy. Those he couldn't simply break, he killed with his guile. His gift from birth, and the reason he had become the leading weapons master, was that he could counter almost any unarmed attack. No one knew quite how, but he could, and it made him one of the most fearsome opponents whose name could be whispered among the shadows.

Aran stopped a moment, took hold of his head, and shook it. He needed to concentrate on what he had almost reached, Snarlmanes palace. Adenon would remove Warstrike from the picture, and until Snarlmane could muster his elite guard from across the gorge, he would be as easy to kill as a sitting duck. With him gone, the entire valley would be thrown into confusion and disarray. A proper search for the assassin, much less a proper response to the trouble he and his troupe would doubtless cause in the mines, would take weeks to coordinate. Aran and his friends would remain unmolested in their search for a way down.

He looked out from his soul, preferring the blackness of the evil night to the cold meticulations of his soul. The landscape had changed little, still the broken rock and grass mixed with gravel, but Snarlmane's place was only a moment or so ahead. He squinted, trying to make out if any of the gnolls had come to guard their chieftain, and if so how many. No motion made it's presence known to his sharp eyes, though, and instead he looked about for signs of an ambush. There were no high grasses or large rocks to use as cover, and the only vantage points for an archer were on the house itself, which he had already looked over. There was nothing, not even a rat upon the rocks, looking for food.

The two friends, their souls bound together in a union shared only by warriors and friends, bounded onwards. They reached the palace, and both stopped a moment, taking in the pitiful sight before them. The mansion might have been beautiful, at some point, but it was an utter wreck now. It was gigantic, large enough to hold a summoning circle for the greatest of demons, and could garrison a hundred gnolls at least comfortably. It looked as if, at some point, it had been used for both purposes, too. The windows of every floor were shattered, with glass fragments still sticking in the window frames. Gouges on the outside of the building indicated that many brutal fights had meat their end around the mansion's walls, and bloodstains on the rocks, ground, and walls did nothing to dispel the image. The entire structure had also caught fire at least once, and probably more often that that. One side of the roof was under reconstruction, obviously repairing fire damage. The two friends had yet to see it, but a massive explosion had also blown out the far side of the villa, and the monstrosity that had birthed the destruction had seen the two friends coming, watched as their powerful strides carried them closer and closer to its slavering jaw.


	3. Chapter 3

**_III_**

Viconia looked up, the bodies of the slain surrounding her. She hated this. She hated the never ending journey, she hated the cold hard earth as her only mattress, she hated hiding like rats amongst the slain. She hated it all. No matter how hard she tried though, despite all her reservations and misgivings, she could not deny her love. While the cold, hard earth was her only mattress, the tall grasses could prove more caring and forgiving sheets then any fine linen in Euman Vir, and the stars that she awoke to every morning proved the most beautiful reveille. As she looked around she couldn't help but wonder if it was all worth it. It was times like these that she hated most. The times when the stench of rotting corpses filled her nose and sent her stomach churning like children going at the butter, and demons of the Nine Hells, with home she was well acquainted and would sometimes even see and speak to, would go about with wicked smiles filled with sharpened teeth, reaping their dutiful, sobering harvest, cackling all the while.

She looked up, emerging just far enough from behind the corpse's massive chest to gaze over the matted, blood soaked fur at the gnoll sentries, languidly leaning on their weapons. They were relaxed, probably drunk, and about to die. Even as a cynical smile began to spread across her lips, she saw a small form rise up behind one of the three figures, grab its lolling head, and slice a flash of sliver across its throat. Before either of its comrades could rise from their stupor, the mans hands had flown to the ground and returned with a bow and arrow, already drawn. The arrow had a wide shaft, almost twice as thick as a man's thumb, and a devilish custom-made point Adenon had ordered himself from one of the dwarves in Euman Vir. The huge arrow, combined with the force of his bow, was enough to send an arrow straight through a gnoll, if the hooks and barbs set along the shaft wouldn't grab hold and shred the monsters insides. The arrow, in that moment death incarnate, may not have flown straight, but at that distance it didn't need too. The gnoll stopped dead, and toppled to the ground, to lie beside his companion.

By this time the last of the three gnolls had brought his spear to bear, but its shaking knees showed its cowardice for what it was. He saw, though, that Adenon was no unarmed, except for that wicked looking dagger in his hand. It thought that it could kill the little wretch as long as it stayed out of the way of that mean little blade. Viconia would have found it odd to know that the creature had been thinking about daggers just as hers sailed into its back. Her blade, magically guided, had somehow found its way in between the beasts' ribs and pierced both lung and heart. The animals, each with their dying breath, realized that they had never even stood a chance against the horrible man with his wicked dagger and arrow, or the flying blade that finished the last of them.

Her part in killing the animals done, Viconia stood, and walked quickly over to where the three lay dead. She sat down, making sure to stay clear of the pooling blood, and let her head fall back a moment. The stars were bright above her, shining down like the eyes of angels, but for all their mystic, heavenly glory unable to stop a single drop of blood. She knew that somewhere deep inside, looking at those stars made her want to dance, frolic in the tall grass, kiss her lover and drag him down in her arms. She knew that somewhere underneath it all, the killing, the magic, the never ending road, the quite, cooing love she was still a girl, somewhere underneath it all. She looked again at the stars, and she found them wanting.

The quite rustling revealed Adenon as he came and sat beside her. He would often come and speak to her, sometimes about the food, and why they couldn't have better, but more often the important things, like all the killing. He would just sit and speak to her about how it got under his skin, and she would in turn offer what she could, and he always seemed profoundly helpful to him. Matthias had always told her she had a way with people, the Gods knew she did with him, but that people would trust her, even if they knew they probably shouldn't. Adenon readjusted himself a couple of times, trying to get comfortable, before giving up and flopping back on the hard dirt. He spoke plainly, and without reservation.

"I never should have commissioned those arrows. I saw the look of pain on that dogs face," and with this he gave a rather vicious kick to the dead gnoll, "when the arrow tore through his gullet. No living thing, no matter how small, insignificant, or disgusting should have to go through that."

"What are you getting at?" The voice of an angel floated back to him.

"Cut to the chase, eh? You always were rather forthright. Ok then, to the chase. Where's Matthias? I haven't seen him, and I'm beginning to worry that we may not have him around when we have to fight Warstrike."

"He's gone, he left about ten minutes back. All goes well it won't be a fight, though. It's an assassination, remember? Aran said he wanted to change the fact that Warstrikes heart was still intact, right? Well, it seems to me the easiest way to do that would be a dagger in the back. Remember what I told you, all those long months ago? A single dagger in the dark is worth ten thousand swords at dawn. You have to live by that if you want your work with us to be worthwhile. It's what you're here to do, and from what I've seen you're marvelous at it."

"A single dagger in the dark is worth ten thousand swords at dawn, eh? Well I have one for you, Viconia, a poignant phrase that sends the mechanical wheels of the mind turning. Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment. Let your mind stumble its way through that one. I took the time and bother to hope. I had hoped to live a nice life. Settle down, have a family, be rich, I don't even know any more! All I know is that _this_ is not what I had wanted."

And with that he again kicked the dead gnoll, this time drawing blood, and Viconia could hear ribs crack. She could hear him breathing heavily behind her. She knew exactly what was going through his head right then. 'Why did I just snap at her? She never did me harm. She's shown me nothing but kindness, and I spite her helping hand.' She turned to him, not speaking, but not judging either. It was not unlike a small child, regarding something unknown, and foreign. Under that gaze, that gaze of inquisitive consideration, that Adenon wilted, and his fire died. She could see his shoulders slump, and his eyes lose their luster, but only momentarily. He had expected, no, hoped that she would turn around the vehement angel of vengeance he always saw her as, and instead he found a simple human soul, not unlike his own. As that realization dawned on him, she saw a different light come into his eyes. It was not the fires that held a glow found only in the depths of the Nine Hells anymore, it was light, streaming in through a break in the cloudy sky. It was light through a temple window, shining gold as the dust lazily plays in its holy beams. It was happiness, and it was amazing.

"You do know, don't you? I didn't think you would. I honestly didn't think anyone did."

"You felt you were alone with your pain. We all have pain, Adenon, but keep in mind, that no matter how many problems we have, we'll always be willing to shoulder a little more."

And with that she turned to him and smiled. It was almost imperceptible, for it was merely the twitching of a lip, a small glimmer in the eye, and a rise in her cheeks, but it was those few moments that Adenon treasured. They brought warmth to his heart, tears to his eyes, and let light into the darkest reaches of his soul. It wasn't even a full smile, where the teeth are shown and dimples are revealed in full, the ever present darkness and death of the road would not permit it, but it only made the ones which slipped through that iron deities grasp seem to glint brighter, and only became more of a heartwarming treasure. It was the elation pouring through him that set his mind at ease, and lay his troubles to rest, but in a shallow grave. On a road such as theirs, such troubles were never truly buried.

Adenon and Viconia passed the next few minutes in easy silence. It was a welcome respite for both of them, a chance to lay down their burdens amongst the slain, and hopefully leave them there. It was not to be, though. In only fifteen minutes, Adenon was up and passing around his latest kills, perhaps eager for another, perhaps dreading it. So, seeing the time for rest had passed and the time for action once again upon them, Viconia rose to join her friend, and they set off together again, heading for the rocky spur that rose ten paces off the ground, to their south and west. Beneath its craggy surface was a large cavern, perhaps fifty paces across and thirty from side to side, where Warstrike made his home. The Gutshredders, Snarlmane's personal guard and trained by the Shredder himself, kept their armory there, and their personnel. The good luck was that since the orcish invasion was repulsed, Warstrike undoubtedly played a large part in routing the orcs and would without question be resting. If any of the Gutshredders were up and about, Viconia had spells that could hold their tongues to the roof of their mouths, and bind their feet to the floor upon which they stood. Magic, however, would not kill the Shredder. They had learned from various escapees of the almost constant chantings of a mage, casting magicical protections upon him and forcing them to last unto eternity. The slaves whispered that when Warstrike died, and his bones were buried within the earth, that the ground where he was buried would become a dead zone. An area where magic had no meaning, and the only powers the powers of iron and the powers of the Gods. Adenon would have to finish the Shredders' legend of invincibility himself.

Even with their course laid before their feet and a clear goal set within their heads rising from the ground and moving again, returning to the crouching dives and scuttles from corpse to corpse, rock to rock, proved no easy task for Viconia. The cold, infuriating hatred she felt for the road had welled up again within her, and the monster that it created would not be easily put to rest. It fought her tooth and nail to stay rooted to the ground. It wanted nothing more then to have her curl up and shut out the world outside. It put the bitter taste of food stored for weeks in a pack into her mouth. It washed tepid blood over her tongue, and it forced her relieve again and again the defining moment when Matthias had revealed himself for his true being. It was that moment that stung her most, when his bloodied form had reared from among the corpses to terrorize even her nightmares.

A hand reached out to her through her thoughts, breaking her reverie, and she looked up to find a grim smile stamped upon Adenon's face. He seemed like he was about to say something, but decided not too, instead glancing pointedly a moment at his hand before looking back to her. She reached up and grasped onto his wrist, and he hers. He hoisted her slender, flighty frame up from the ground and held on just a moment, giving her hand a little squeeze. It seemed to speak of its own accord, that fleeting pressure on her skin. Something deep within her smiled, and she knew that she had friends, and that they would always be with her no matter how hard the road beneath her feet became.

Standing seemed to banish the lethargy from her limbs, and she could feel just a little bit of the old excitement again, like when they first departed Euman Vir to the INSERT NAME HERE, to free Ezoda. She could feel just a little of that temple pounding rush of blood to the head as when they had first set off for Senkrad Thead, to steal the Lifebleeder from the clutches of Gorm. The old excitement not only banished the lethargy, but it put new strength in her frame, and she didn't feel quite as reluctant to stand and move on again. She removed her dagger from the corpse that lay still before her, cleaned it on the grass, and looked back to the south and west. She could see the rock that marked the entrance to the cavern where Warstrike made his home. If she took a moment to aim and channel her power, she could actually hit the rocks from her present post with a fireball or lightning bolt, but that would serve no purpose, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

Together, each with their wounds healed by the other, they set out across the valley towards their distant goal, Viconia muttering a soundless spell as they went. Their path crossed many gnolls, whom they gave the honor of joining their brethren reposing on the ground, but their most common assailants were the silent corpses that lay beneath them. For both Adenon and Viconia, soundlessly stalking a veritable graveyard left too much to safely be fead to their imaginations. Adenon could almost see the bodies rising from the dirt in the distance, and Viconia could feel the cold fingers of the freshly dead brushing against her ankles, sending unnatural shivers up her spine. Despite the deep-seated dread the clawed at their bellies, though, the two moved forward, closing silently with their prey. Silent, deathly specters that stalked the night, they made their way past rock and stone, flesh and bone, it mattered not, they left any unfortunate to stand before them dead in their wake. They reached the rocks quickly.

They were massive, towering leviathans that put giants to shame. The titanic, granite spurs jutted up from the ground like the horribly misshapen, snapping jaw of some colossal demon from the bowels of the Nine Hells, tearing and eating its way to the surface of the world. None would have known it from the outside, but the rocks had shred their way to the surface through a small knoll. With all the thrusting, devastating power of tons of granite forcing its way violently to the surface, a large cavern was created just below the surface of the hill, with rock on all sides and even a few spurs going through the cavern. It was one of the most defensible spots in the entire valley. Small, tight corridors that could be easily defended, emptying into a funnel that lead straight into the cavern, twenty men with bows could hold for hours here. The one thing no defender was expecting, though, was a mage. Small, tight corridors with walls that repelled fire, the flames from the explosion would rebound off the rocks and spread throughout the structure. And that is exactly what happened. Viconia's fireball worked wonders, and following it up with a lightning bolt, which also bounced off rocks, cleared any stray gnolls who had been guarding its passages.

They moved forward through the now silent and deathly still of the rocky corridors. Adenon stopped to whisper his apprehension of other gnolls coming to investigate. It was he, after all, that had stood atop the rocks, and watched the massive wave of gnollish fur and flesh sweep across the valley. Viconia nodded smartly, knowing full well that the illusion she had cast over the rocks would hold, and block any prying eyes that may have wished to observe them. His fears momentarily eased, Adenon moved in front of her, taking the lead in their small party and advancing into the bowels of what might have been his death. Ahead of them lay the dark shadow of Warstrike.

They stalked forward, Adenon striding on towards his destiny, and Viconia following the noble, heroic figure he cut at a discrete distance. She could see his shoulders going up and down with every breath he took, deceptively calm, slow, but she could feel the tension in his bones and heart. The man was as tense as the bow he carried across his back, and even more deadly then the massive, barbed arrows in the quiver at his hip. They walked into the bowels of death itself, and yet he did not shake, nor quiver with fear, at least visibly. Viconia couldn't help but find herself admiring him for his bravery. He moved forward with all the strength of a god, and as he marched he readied his bow, and notched an arrow.

They passed a few corpses on their way through the rocks, the strong sent of burning fur curling their lips as they passed, but the only true opposistion they faced was Warstrike himself. They moved through the halls of stone quickly and reached the Shredders hallowed cavern quickly, to find him standing, his warstaff in his hands. He was a hulking brute, towering above all others. Viconia, stunned though she was, guessed his height at eight and a half feet or so, and four feet across at the shoulder. He had arms the size of small trees, and a neck that looked like a rock. He had thick armor plates adorning his shoulder, and leather straps across his chest. Small thigh plates also offered some minor protection from stray blades, and such, but he needed none of it. He was a gnoll, and his skin was thick and hard enough to do the job. His eyes were small, just like every other gnoll, but they smoldered with an inhuman malice. That monster knew that they had come to kill it, and it would not die without making sure that they would remember it. Adenon, who only knew that it was his job to kill the creature, could only deduce that he was huge, and that he doubted that his arrows would even scratch that hide.

The hulking monster that loomed before took in a massive breath, released it, and took another. This time, though, he unleashed a mammoth roar of bestial fury, which shook the rock walls and sent clods of dirt tumbling from the ceiling. Pebbles on the ground shook as if they were possessed by demons. The animal before them took its weapon in its hands, with three massive strides, covered half the distance between itself and the two weakling humans that stood before it. It reared back, ready to bring its mighty hammer crashing down upon its foes, when Adenon found again his nerve, and as quickly as he could, brought up a second arrow, knocked it above the first, and set both shafts lose into the fur-covered belly of the Shredder.


End file.
